Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Beta-reading by rabidsamfan (with thanks)

Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Fifth in a series. Takes place on December 24, 1976, so well after the end of the first season. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, Aftermath, Dance With Me, and The Anniversary (which has been revised and relaunched, so you may want to give that a look first).

Author's Note: This story is the oldest one I'll ever publish, written in December, 2005, the week before Christmas, and it hasn't really changed much since. It's fluff, quite obviously, but warm, fuzzy fluff, and I have a special place in my heart for this one. I think I got the atmosphere of the season right. I realise that it's September and hardly the most festive time of year, but this is next in the series, and it needed to be posted before going on to the next piece, which will be infinitely longer and hopefully will last me until I have more time to write/edit again. This one's very short, and thus won't last many chapters. There was no arc when I wrote it, so I've essentially built up the rest of the series around it. Perhaps my writing style has changed. Perhaps not. Either way, I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Mike Gambit surveyed the snow with apprehension. Personally, he was fine with it, but he always wondered if the rest of London could handle the slick roads as well as he could. He had driven in more serious weather than this—his last trip to Switzerland came to mind—but he had witnessed more than his share of road accidents around this time of year, and wasn't keen on being involved in any, especially after a long year of car chases, and a history of motor racing incidents. That one at Daytona still made him wince. Bloody seashells. He sipped his coffee.

Christmas had failed to bring any warm-fuzziness to Gambit's life for quite awhile. It was always a bleak time in his childhood, underscored by his father's habit of over-spiking the eggnog to ease his depression and quell the flashbacks, and his ever-strained and tired mother—and the heated midnight arguments that he would desperately try to block out with his pillow. His aunt and her family were the major source of all happy childhood memories, Christmas included, but they could only do so much, and welcome as he was, he never wanted to impose for too long. Since he had returned to Britain in 1973, he had gotten into the habit of spending the holiday season at parties held by friends or acquaintances, usually accompanied by the girl he was seeing. He had also made a habit of dropping by his aunt's to see how she was, and to dutifully accept the present which he knew from experience would contain pajamas. His cousin was often there as well, and they would spend a little time together before going their separate ways. He never went to see his parents, and always made sure his visits to his aunt were never too close to the actual holiday, so as to avoid a chance meeting. He knew his mother would never pursue the matter. He had made his unwillingness abundantly clear. And the day Captain Alan Gambit made an effort to make contact with his only son would likely be marked by hell freezing over. Maybe he could tip the BBC off ahead of time.

The best way to avoid Christmas was to travel. He would escape to a foreign city for a bit, recharge, reflect, and then return to his life of danger and intrigue at the Ministry.

This year was no different. He had broken it off with the brunette he had been seeing, and having visited the only family he wished to see, planned on attending Steed's party, wishing the host and Purdey Season's Greetings, and escaping to a different country soon afterwards. He was going to the Ministry to accept that fairly slack, good relations visit they'd been desperately trying to fill for a month now. The visits were often scheduled to keep goodwill between agencies, and usually involved a couple of meetings, a tour or two, and maybe some sort of dinner, and then left him with rather a lot of free time. There was never any competition—few people were willing to take even the easiest jobs over the holidays. He would drop by the Ministry just as soon as Purdey arrived to take his presents to Steed's. He checked his watch. Purdey would be arriving soon. He hoped he hadn't scared her too much with his description of last year's festivities. She had looked a trifle panicked, but had hid it well. Steed had promised to scale things back, anyway.

Gambit realized that this would be the first Christmas for the three of them as a team. Hard to believe it was almost a year since Steed, more than a bit frustrated with Gambit's loner attitude, had decided what his young partner needed was someone more his equal, to balance out Steed's guiding influence. "A woman," Steed had told him over the Scotch. "Just on the tail end of her training. She's quite talented. I think you'll get on very well." He had protested, of course, but Steed was adamant, his long line of female partners making him rather an expert in the area. Gambit, already unhappy with one partner, was none too eager to take on a second. But that was before Steed had said "Ah, here she is," and he had turned to see the tall, slim girl with the large blue eyes and long blonde hair, who moved with the grace of a dancer, and insisted in that cut-glass accent that he please drop the "Miss Bryde" and call her Purdey. There was equal insistence from the other party that she stop calling him "Mr. Gambit." "Mike," he had offered. They went on that way for the first few days. By the end it was Gambit and Purdey. He remembered Steed looking rather pleased with himself. The elder agent had left them on their own for a few months after that, checking in on occasion. Purdey finished up her training, cut off her hair, fell into an immediately flirtatious relationship with her partner, and quizzed him about Steed constantly. Then came April. The rest was history. Gambit had never looked back.

Gambit glanced at the two wrapped packages sitting on the bar. He'd known what to buy for Steed, but Purdey had proved more difficult. He wasn't used to buying gifts for women that he wasn't either related to or involved with. Purdey, by all accounts only a friend (so far, blast it), had proven to be a challenge. He gave her gift another look. His cousin had kindly agreed to wrap it for him on his last visit, and she had done him proud. He sincerely hoped Purdey would like it. He briefly wondered what she had chosen for him. Hopefully not a dog as she had been musing a month earlier. There was something he had no place in his life for, and couldn't return! Not to mention the earful he'd get from Mrs. Bannister, his cleaning lady. If she frowned on his bringing girls home, he could only imagine what reaction a large, slobbering canine would elicit. Of course, if it were an attack dog, that would be a different matter entirely. Alas, he doubted Purdey would be so obliging.

The doorbell rang. That would be her. He set down his cup and saucer, and with long, quick strides crossed the room to admit her.

Purdey stood there, a well-cut long blue coat, complete with hood and gloves, protecting her slim frame from the winter chill outside. She shivered nonetheless.

"It's cold out there," she commented unnecessarily. Gambit could see her cheeks were rosy from the frigid air. Gambit realized that, with the hood hiding the short hair and the black skirt he glimpsed underneath, that she looked exactly as she had when he first laid eyes on her. "I feel as though I've been put on ice," she was saying, unaware of the resemblance. "Now I know how a bottle of champagne feels."

Gambit grinned. "If that's the case, you know I'm always more than happy to defrost you."

She gave him a scathing look and brushed past. "I suddenly have a very good idea where you sit on the naughty and nice list," she retorted, pushing back her hood and shaking out her short blonde hair.

"I see the cold applies to your heart as well," he muttered. She shot him another look but didn't comment.

"You said you wanted me to take some gifts to Steed's." All business. Somehow it didn't surprise him. He didn't know that her shower musings were still on her mind, and that she was doing her best to suppress them.

"Yes. Over there," he replied, gesturing to the pair of wrapped gifts resting on the bar beneath the miniature tree. Purdey went to scoop them up, but paused and chose one of those addressed to Gambit instead. She shook it, listening intently. Gambit, his back to her as he put on his coat, was also listening, and answered the inevitable question instinctively. "Don't bother. It's pajamas. Always is." He turned to face her and gleaned a little satisfaction from the brief look of surprise that flitted across her face. She hid it quickly.

"Your aunt of course. What did you say her name was?"

"I didn't. Hadn't you better get going?" He slid on his gloves.

"All right, Mike, no need to get tetchy," she rebuked, scooping up the gifts.

Gambit immediately regretted the sharpness in his voice. "Sorry," he said softly. "Always a little out of sorts at Christmas."

"Aren't we all?" He gave a slight smile which she returned. They understood each other. They headed for the door.

"By the way," he added, "be careful with Steed's. It's fragile."

"You too? Some sort of drink to make spirits bright?" Purdey asked knowingly.

"Of course. What else do you get—"

"—for the spy who has everything?" she finished. "I know what you mean. It's what I got him too." They stared at each other, pondering the gravity of the situation.

"Do you think he'll mind?" Purdey queried.

"Well, he didn't at his last birthday…," Gambit began.

"Or at that party he threw in November…," Purdey added.

"Or back in 1966, for any occasion, if Mrs. Peel is to be believed." Gambit reached out and caught the box as it slipped from Purdey's grasp. He handed it back to her. "I think we're safe." He gave her a smile and started out the door, Purdey tailing him.

"You didn't really talk to Mrs. Peel, did you? When was this? What did she say? If you're lying, Mike Gambit, I'm going to…"

She didn't take a breath until halfway down the hall.